


by any other name

by ghiblitears



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, James is whipped, M/M, Nicknames, Oneshot, just pure fluff, keith knows exactly what he's doing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-29
Updated: 2018-11-29
Packaged: 2019-09-02 08:45:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16783576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghiblitears/pseuds/ghiblitears
Summary: Nicknames, as it turns out, are the killing blow of romantic persuasion. James learns this the hard way.





	by any other name

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ImaginationCubed](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImaginationCubed/gifts).



> THEN I SAW HER JAITH  
> NOW I'M A BELIEVER  
> NOT A TRAITH  
> OF DOUBT IN MY MIND
> 
> Yep, ya girl's got another ship and decided to rub her fluffy hands all over it.
> 
> Written for Luna (imaginationcubed), as thanks for converting me singlehandedly and providing inspiration for this prompt.

They shouldn't have to sneak around. James isn't good at breaking habits, though, and that makes navigating romance a veritable minefield. The last thing he wants is a write-up from his commanding officers telling him to be more subtle in regards to his love life. He doesn't need the extra attention; being an MFE pilot means all eyes are already on him anyway. The implications that would follow him and Keith arriving to breakfast together would be too much to handle. 

  
  
That's what drags him out of the bed before the sun's properly risen, because if he's not back in his quarters soon there will be teasing and it will be _relentless_. Rizavi's already made good on her promise to embarrass him -- too good, for the most part -- and he doesn't want it to sour the night he's had. 

  
  
The bed doesn't creak as he sits on the edge of it and toes his discarded boots closer -- a small mercy. Even if he knows the rooms are soundproofed he takes comfort in the silence, because anxiety continually tells him that everyone can hear him sneaking out. That everyone already knows they’re a thing. 

  
  
They do. James knows they do -- it's been three months and rumours travel fast around the Garrison. Now that aliens are no longer the most exciting thing around the military base, everyone's interests have shifted to more classic news. It's not like there are any hard and fast rules about staying in each others' rooms, either, but everyone's been quiet about them for the time being and he's content to keep it that way. 

  
  
He's got one boot halfway laced and his jacket over his shoulders when something shifts behind him. Two arms slide up and over to encircle his waist, effectively holding him in place. Hands tangle in the fabric of his shirt. He'd believe the nonchalance if he didn't already know the move was carefully calculated, a chess play in the game of love. 

  
  
"Where are you going?" 

  
  
It's unfair how much Keith's low, tired voice wrecks him. James stops, laces still taut in his grip, and does his best to gather his will. 

  
  
"Back to my room?" he says hesitantly, like he's not actually sure that's what he's doing anymore. Conscious thought only has so much say in his gut reactions. "Can't stay forever, babe." 

  
  
Keith hums. The grip on James' waist tightens. "Stay." 

  
  
James sneaks a glance back at him. He should be used to the sight by now, and somehow it still throws him off kilter in a way he doesn’t expect. What little light there is in the room catches like stars in Keith's dark eyes, illuminates ink-spill hair that's spread out over the Garrison-issue pillowcase. Everything not covered by the blanket is on display for him, meaning every visible inch of toned muscle and pale skin is there for James' eyes to explore. Against rationality, he does. 

  
  
"You know I can't," he says, believing the words less and less. 

  
  
A thoughtful pause. 

  
  
"Do you really have to go, Pretty Boy?" Keith asks, quietly persuasive, and James short-circuits. 

  
  
Spitfire. Cherrybomb. Lionheart. The nicknames he gives Keith rest perpetually on his tongue, sweet like candy. They'd started off as a joke, little one-offs tacked onto the words he says to Keith as a way to diffuse the seriousness of their roles -- because helping to shoulder world peace means they'll take small comforts whenever they can. Keith shows his affection in other ways. Light touches on James' shoulder, a hand slipped quietly into his pocket to lace their fingers together, a scuff on his boots where Keith's foot lightly taps his. They rarely switch.

There’s a reason for that, as it turns out. 

  
  
James takes a moment to realize just how fucked he is. 

  
  
Fully aware of his advantage, Keith goes back to his usual approach and slides one hand under James' shirt. Keith's hands aren't cold (they never are) but the light brush of fingers against his skin still makes him jump. He drops the laces. 

  
  
A soft rustle brings Kosmo into view, head rising up from where he's laid down to investigate James' disaster gay moment. The cosmic wolf fixes him with a calculated look, one that promises to teleport him back under the covers if he tries to make a break for it. 

  
  
There's no choice, really. He should know that by now. 

  
  
He can almost feel smugness radiating off Keith as he pulls the boot off again and tosses the jacket to the floor. James knows he's been played, but he finds it hard to care too much as he settles back in the bed, head pillowed on Keith's shoulder and his hand falling naturally into the slight curve of Keith's waist. His thumb rubs idly at the skin there and draws out the slightest of shivers. Satisfying. 

  
  
"So you can stay forever," Keith remarks, voice quiet in the following stillness. 

  
  
"I can be persuaded sometimes," he replies.   


  
"You're easy, James Griffin." 

  
  
"And you're a tease." 

  
  
Keith hums again. Now that he has James where he wants him, he's begun to slip back into sleep. "You can dish it out, but you can't take it. One nickname and you're back in my bed." 

  
  
"I'll show you who can dish it out in training later," he replies. The indignation coaxes a tired laugh out of Keith. 

  
  
"You're on." 

  
  
Silence claims him again after that. James wants to be mad at being played, but the slow rhythm of Keith's breaths and the warmth of his skin are sorely needed comforts. They make everything else seem muted, like in the moment they're allowed their own little bubble of existence. 

  
  
_Pretty Boy_ , of all things. He shouldn't find it as appealing as he does. Even playing it back in his head makes his heart stutter. He can almost hear the exact mocking tone Rizavi will use when she tells him he's whipped.

Somehow, he doesn’t care as much anymore.

He embraces the quiet, lets it lull him back into contented sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> hmu on tumblr @ babykeithsmullet


End file.
